


A New Celebration

by kamibanani



Series: Good Omens Prompt Drabbles [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gift Fic, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, ft: the Them / Adam and a few others in a very minor supporting role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 04:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamibanani/pseuds/kamibanani
Summary: Adam asks our Ineffable duo a thought-provoking question: do angels and demons have birthdays?





	A New Celebration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lywinis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for one of my lovely beta readers, [lywinis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lywinis). Thank you for all your work, your encouragement, your lovely comments, your inspiration, and for being such an enabler in my ~~sauntering vaguely~~ mad careening downward into this fandom. You are amazing and wonderful and this fandom has brought us closer than ever before and I'm so grateful for it. Love you!
> 
> Y'all, if you like my work, please check out lywinis' work too. They're a huge inspiration for me not just in writing, but in characterising Aziraphale and Crowley, and they deserve all the love.

"Hello!" Aziraphale said brightly, holding out a colourfully wrapped parcel.

Arthur Young narrowed his eyes, glancing from Aziraphale, to the gift-wrapped box, to the lanky ginger standing next to him holding a black paper bag with a red ribbon. After a few moments, he relaxed, recognition dawning on him.

"Mr. Fell, Mr. Crowley," he greeted them, turning to let them through the door, "so kind of you to make the trip out. Come in, come in."

Aziraphale suppressed a smile as Crowley shuddered at being called _kind_ , following Mr. Young through the cottage and into the kitchen. A lovely banner with the words _Happy Birthday, Adam!_ had been stretched across the wall, balloons and paper streamers decorating nearly every inch of space.

"You're here!"

Adam sat at the kitchen table, a large, lovingly decorated homemade cake sitting in front of him. The Them were seated next to him, two to each side. Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer stood with their backs pressed against the range, trying very hard not to get in Mrs. Young's way as she took picture after picture of her son.

"Hello, Adam," Aziraphale replied, setting both his box's and Crowley's bag on the table. "Happy birthday!"

The small, former (?) Antichrist looked at Crowley expectantly, but he was busy having a staring contest with Dog. Aziraphale nudged him gently.

"What—? Oh. Right. Happy birthday, Adam."

Deirdre Young beamed tearfully and ruffled her son's hair.

"My wee man," she murmured, much to Adam's embarrassment as the Them snickered, "growing up so quickly, eh? Seems like yesterday that you turned eleven."

With the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Young, everyone in the room suddenly found something else to be very interested in. The week of Adam's eleventh birthday had been, to put it very mildly, an interesting week for them all. Even Dog avoided the subject, instead finding this a good opportunity to finally catch the blasted wagging thing that always seemed to be behind it.

"Right," Adam said sharply, the slightest hint of a command in his voice. "I want cake."

As they sang the birthday song, Crowley shifted closer to Aziraphale, the side of his pinky just barely brushing up against the back of Aziraphale's hand.

They burst into applause when Adam blew out the candles. In addition to the mountain of gifts from his parents and relatives (being an only child had its perks), everyone in the room had also brought a present.

Pepper gave him an action figure—a girl, of course–from a popular movie franchise set in space; Wensleydale gave him a model aeroplane; and Brian brought over a "mad scientist" toy kit. Anathema and Newt gifted him a year's subscription to _Psychic News_ and _New Aquarian_.

Aziraphale had, with Anathema's help, printed Adam's story about the pirate-detective and had it bound in leather with a gorgeous cover illustration from an artist Crowley helped him find online. Crowley, on the other hand, had given Adam a 3D doodle pen, which he immediately opened and began using.

When they finished eating, Deirdre shooed them all outside the kitchen, while Arthur retired to the sitting room to watch cricket. Adam and the Them got busy testing out all the new toys, taking care to avoid letting Newt touch any of the electronic ones.

"Do angels and demons have birthdays?" Adam asked suddenly, his tongue trapped between his front teeth as he struggled to fly his new aeroplane. 

Aziraphale shook his head. "Well, no."

"We were never born," Crowley added.

"You must do, though," Adam insisted. "Even if you weren't born, someone made you alive, somehow."

* * *

Six months later, Aziraphale was relaxing with a cup of cocoa when a black envelope slipped under the door of the bookshop.

Puzzled and mildly alarmed, he picked it up and examined it with interest. The envelope had no postage, its edges trimmed in a deep, metallic red. On the front, written in beautifully executed silver calligraphy, was his name: _Aziraphale_.

Carefully, he turned it over and pried loose the flap. Inside, a sleek black card proclaimed _You're Invited…_ in embossed silver letters. On the other side, the calendar date of the following Tuesday, a time, and a familiar address.

* * *

He wasn't entirely sure what the invitation was for, but it still seemed impolite to be empty-handed so he showed up with a bottle of wine from his personal stores. The invitation had felt… formal, somehow, so he miracled himself (what he thought was) a fashionable outfit.

His suit was a cream-coloured white tie ensemble complete with tailcoat, winged collar dress shirt, and white waistcoat, though he opted to break tradition and wear a golden bowtie with just the _slightest_ hint of a tartan pattern. His gold, angelic motif fob watch hung from its usual place. Completing the look were a white chrysanthemum boutonniere, gold angel wing cufflinks, and white-and-gold wingtip—a joke that greatly amused him—shoes.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the red buzzer on the thing that was apparently called an _intercom_. Crowley's voice crackled to life on the other end.

"Yeah?"

"It's me, Crowley."

"Come on up."

There was a click as the front door unlocked itself. Aziraphale stepped across the threshold, squinting as he adjusted to the darkness.

"Crowley?"

"In here."

Following both the voice and the familiar, heady scent of leather, smoke, and earth, Aziraphale found himself in what appeared to be Crowley's dining room.

There was a big banner on the wall that read _Happy Birthday, Me_ , surrounded by red and silver paper streamers and red balloons. At the head of the dining table sat Crowley, dressed to the nines in a similar white-tie ensemble, but opting for black with a red bowtie and silver snake cufflinks. For a change, his amber eyes were unobscured by his sunglasses.

In front of him was a small cake with a single lit candle.

Aziraphale tilted his head, a warm smile slowly spreading across his face.

"My dear boy," he said, setting down the wine bottle, "you're not supposed to throw _yourself_ a birthday party."

Crowley laughed and patted the seat next to him. "It's _my_ birthday, innit?" he replied. "So who says I can't?"

"Do you want me to sing the birthday song?"

"Obviously."

Feeling the tips of his ears grow hot, Aziraphale stared at the candle as he softly sang:

 _"Happy birthday to you,_  
_Happy birthday to you,_  
_Happy birthday, **dear** Crowley,_  
_Happy birthday to you."_

Crowley blew out the flame, smoke curling from the extinguished wick. Aziraphale watched as it wafted lazily upward, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Why did you make today your birthday?"

Instead of answering, Crowley pulled the candle out of the cake and licked the frosting off slowly; Aziraphale bit his lip, completely mesmerised, until he set it down again.

"I'm winging it on the actual calendar date," he finally said, "since calendars didn't exist back then, but the time of the year is about right."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, trying to understand. "About right for what?"

Crowley looked at him full-on, then, his expression the gentlest Aziraphale had ever seen.

"The day we met."

"I… I don't understand."

Crowley reached over and took his hand tenderly.

"It was something Adam said," he explained. " _'Even if you weren't born, someone made you alive, somehow.'_ "

He brushed his lips against the back of Aziraphale's hand.

"I don't know how long I was in the dark, but I knew I was alive the day I met you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [akfedeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akfedeau) for beta reading this piece. Please check out their work!
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you like this drabble, please be sure to check out my chaptered works too.


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